College sisters scattered to the four winds after graduation, finding a way to keep the sister fires burning. You can take the girls out of the sorority house, but you can't take the sorority house out of the girls!

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

the one thing in the world right now that makes me happier than anything else (except for maybe a pint of 'cherry garcia'), is that i am heading to orlando, florida on friday to visit super jas's grandparents. they have a winter home there and we're taking full advantage of it! i'm not especially looking forward to the drive down there. packed tightly into the van will be me, super jas, little mama, aj, and the in-laws. we'll be driving through the night though, so i'm hoping to sleep for most of the trip. but, let's not talk about the drive there because that really isn't so happy. let's talk about the things i'm planning to do while i'm there.

1) relax by the pool.2) eat the lemons off of the ginormous lemon tree rooted in their front yard.3) take a nap.4) eat grandma's home cooked chicken noodles, home baked apple pie and chocolate chip cookes and... you get the picture.5) take the girls to disney world and stalk the princesses for pictures and autographs.6) ditch the girls with super jas and the in-laws and ride space mountain by myself.7) soak up a few rays of sunshine.8) shop out the outlet mall.9) take a million pictures.10) rediscover, revive, and refresh myself.

i can't wait to leave this deary, rainy indy weather and escape to the sunshine and palm trees of orlando. sunny florida, here i come!

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

I am very raindrops-on-roses-and-whiskers-on-kittens today, so this topic couldn’t be more easy for me. What is so great about my life right now, you ask?

The pets and fetus had a pow wow, and decided that I was getting pretty cranky and maybe that was due to lack of sleep, so they agreed to call a truce this week on keeping me up all night. I have slept super dee duper the past four, five days. I hardly even pee at night anymore, maybe just 3 times! This is amazing! It won’t last – he’s due to drop soon, which will mean I can breathe again but my bladder goes from the shape of a fist to the shape of a fried egg. Oh well, I’ll enjoy this while I can. As all of the parents love to say (with an evil snicker) to the exhausted pregnant lady – get all the sleep you can now, because after he’s born you’ll never sleep again. Yes, yes, I know, I know, I’m trying, and this week I’m succeeding. Sleep does marvelous things for one’s mood.

Two spray bottles got stuck between our washer/dryer and the bifold laundry doors, preventing me from opening the doors and doing any laundry at all. It would have taken acrobatics of which I am no longer capable to reach them. So I MacGyvered them out of there with (I’m not kidding) a broom, a golf club, and a fly swatter. It was a long and complicated process, but I felt like a hero when I was done.

My ovaries, my hormones and I had a fantastic time yesterday setting up baby’s room. I assembled the musical under-the-sea mobile and put it up on the crib. I washed the bumpers and dust ruffle and set them down in the crib, ready to be fastened on once I bring home a mattress one of these days. I started washing the linens and clothes, and hung up his wee little outfits on wee little hangers. I unfolded the stroller and smelled the new-stroller smell, which is surprisingly satisfying. I lint rolled the inside of some empty baskets, which til now were Schmitty’s favorite place to park and observe the world – I filled a large round one with cloth diapers, a small rectangular one with baby toys. Ten bucks says they are emptied of baby items and full of cat hair when I get home today. After a couple of hours of nesting in this way, I gazed on the crib that is still sans mattress, but finally looks something like a baby’s crib instead of something from a warehouse floor, and I just cried and cried. And thought – how weird is it that I am crying over missing a little baby who I’ve never yet met, and who is actually here in this room with me right now, hiccupping into my pelvic area with gusto? It was a wonderful, emotional, hormonally fueled moment, observed with puzzlement by the feline and the canine, who were both like – Hello?? Remember us? Can we play now?

In the middle of my nesting frenzy last night, I found time to make myself some mashed potatoes and Brussels sprouts for dinner. Mmmmmm. Mashed potatooooooeeess. Brussels sprouts with baconnnnnn. Mmmmmmm.

I am having some girls over this week for a Stitch n’ Bitch, during which I plan to finish the heirloom baby blanket that I’ve been working on for a lifetime. Friends! Wheeeee!

The baby removed his buttocks from their relatively permanent (and painful) station in my chest cavity at some point yesterday. I can breathe and eat again. Also, he is hiccupping right as I type. Why is that cute? I don’t know but it is. I blame hormones again.

My husband comes home after a looooong looooong trip in just 10 days. He arrives on the last Friday in March, and then we make yet another jaunt down to South Carolina (it will be my third in four weeks), this time to Camden to see the Carolina Cup horse race. Then he leaves again immediately for Chicago for the week, but at least Chicago is closer than Brazil. Then he comes back just in time for our second baby shower. So March is going to be busy. This is good – without things to do, I would sit and twiddle my thumbs and watch the clock tick away the last remaining seconds of my childless life.

So, feeling somewhat like Pollyanna here, but you caught me on a good day. Aaaaannd, there goes baby’s butt back into my ribcage. Ooof. Well, it’s still a good day. Just not a good day for, you know, breathing and stuff.

Monday, March 17, 2008

My brain is in the off position today and I am being a bad Monday Hostess of the Wonder Women site. Bad Wicked M! So, since work is hectic and I got less than three hours of sleep last night, I have decided to take the easy way out today. I am choosing an easy topic and then checking out. Green beer (or at least some beer) awaits my arrival at home!

I wonder what is making me happy about today. Quite honestly, this should be a tough topic. I mean, it is a Monday and I think a cold is in my future. My throat is raw and I keep sniffling while I sit at my desk. I got little to no sleep last night due to my husband's LOUDEST SNORING EVER and the glorious cat who paces up and down our bed at night. Love that. And, uh...wait. I am writing about happy things!

I got a new haircut over the weekend and my hair actually looks cute today! Score one for fine hair being oomphed by new styling products and a cute new style.

It is St. Patrick's Day and that gives me a free pass to drink. I drink purely for medicinal reasons typically (yeah, right) so it is nice to be able to drink because of a holiday and not because beer is the most appetizing thing in our refrigerator.

Before I drink my celebratory St. Patrick's Day beer(s), I think I might take a nap. I never do this and it is a little bit of a treat for me. I am looking forward to being comatose for an hour immensely.

It is already 4:00p where I am and that means that my Monday workday is nearly over. Woo!

I got to meet my favorite author, Jodi Picoult, for the third time on Saturday. She was charming as always and I got four more of my books signed.

March Madness is upon us and I love this time of year. Coming from a place where basketball is a religion means that no self-respecting Hoosier girl can ignore March Madness.

I have a wonderful husband despite the snoring. He is funny, kind, and very smart. In one friend's words: "He is the nicest husband ever."

I have a couple of really cool projects that I am working on and I love that they have given me the creative boost I have been needing.

Dancing With the Stars starts again tonight! Yay for awesome reality television.

After last week being such a huge-a-mongous failure, today gives me a brand new start!

Thursday, March 13, 2008

I’ve been mulling over this wonder all week. I am having a really hard time! Oh no, not because my drunken escapades have been so few and far between, but because there have been so many and they usually ended with my inability to remember significant portions of the evening. Don’t worry about me, though: I’m down to one binge a year now that I’m wise and mature and oh, who am I kidding? Two a year. Three last year and before that … um …er …ahem! but definitely no blackouts in 2008.

Yet.

So what’s the most drunk I’ve ever been? Could it have been, say, the first time I imbibed? It was second semester of my freshman year, just after joining my sorority, on a Saturday night, with plenty of fun girly company. I had a cute “drinking cup.” What was at the time a very cute outfit (standard HC going-out uniform: form-fitting t-shirt tucked into bootcut jeans, an open flannel shirt, and boots). And a whole half a bottle of Boone’s Farm: I split the bottle w/another first-time-drinker and very, very good buddy. And a band to go dance to. There are pictures, and I look adorable and sloppily giddy. It was fantastic.

Or was it later that semester, at a fraternity formal, when I showered tipsy for the first time (I remember that being a hugely awesome experience)? Later that evening, I left my date (who really liked me) to follow his fraternity brother (who I really liked and did not like me back) as he crashed another fraternity formal on another floor of the hotel. We stayed there talking to total strangers for at least ten minutes (you know how time expands when you’re drunk) before our respective dates found us and dragged us back to the right formal. It was hilarious.

No, maybe it was my senior year, when I had a huge Halloween fight with one of my best friends. He was guy with whom I happened to believe I was in love (to him, I was the big sister he never had, of course) and for some reason I thought it was a good idea to get really belligerent and tell him maybe we shouldn’t be friends anymore—and then a better idea to throw my keys and attendant brown leather ID-holder keychain past him onto a parking lot covered with fallen leaves in a fit of drunken foot-stomping and pouting. It took us an hour to find them, and he was completely sober. It was ridiculous.

Let’s not forget the gala benefit bash from my year as company manager of a regional theatre: we did a black-tie dinner before Opening Night of a well-known contemporary play, followed by an Opening Night reception in the lobby. As CM, I got to help pour the hundreds of glasses of donated champagne for happy hour before the dinner. I continued to pour during dinner (the peons who worked for the theatre got relegated to one shared table way in the back and we took turns sitting down to grab a quick bite) and didn’t really eat much, what with all the hubbub and the gala-ing and the pouring. I found myself a little overzealous in my estimation of how many patrons wanted to drink that donated champagne, and I mean, it was free. I couldn’t let it go to waste, so I did my best to drink it. All. It was frightening.

Then there’s the time my sister Kat and brother-in-law Owl met The Boy and me at our parents’ house to celebrate Father’s Day from far-flung places. All six of us went out to the farmhouse of our closest family friends for a shindig of one sort or another. Beer, wine, liquor, and wonderful live Irish music followed. I don’t remember many of the details after about the first 90 minutes of the party, but it ended with the three couples being clown-carred into one vehicle to head home … only Kat was sober to drive. Father’s Day breakfast and church turned into Hangover Brunch at Shoney’s minus church for most of us. It was painful.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

okay, now that my folks are gone, i can share. unfortunately, i had many a "fun" night in college. i can't recall my absolute drunkest night ever, so i'll share with you a few drunken super jane stories. no birthdays were necessary for me to party in college. it seems like every weekend was my birthday in college. have i mentioned before that i hope my girls turn out like their father? oh, help me if they turn out like me. okay, here goes nothing...

mom and dad....seriously...please stop reading!

*a group of us had been partying at the fiji house. we decided to go to the sig house because they were having a band that night. well, on the way there, i ripped one. a big one. so big in fact that fiji t (see post from waay back when) looked at me and said, "super jane? did you just fart?" "psh. no." i said in this 'come-on-who-do-you-think-i-am' kind of a voice. and he says to me, "yeah, whatever."

*my freshman year i was at the sig house when i started to get sick. so instead of trying to puke in the trashcan, i tried to puke in my beer bottle. didn't work so well.

*my roommate and i liked to dance on the bar in this room at sig which was nicknamed 'the trailer park.' the room was packed and we were having a ball dancing on the bar. well, i suddenly got a bit wobbly and began to fall. in an attempt to keep from totally falling off the bar, i tried to brace myself on the wall. in doing so, i ended up catching some of the stereo wires and ripping them out of the cd player. the music completely stopped. the room went silent. and then everybody started chanting, "party foul! party foul!" the guy whose room we were in was very, very mad at me and made me leave.

*i met one of my closest friends during a drunken night. we were at the lambda house and i had to go to the bathroom SOOOO bad. the girls' bathroom was all the way in the basement and i was all, "ohmygosh. i totally have to pee. NOW!" so rather than make my way to the basement, i decided i would just use the boys' bathroom in the hall. my roommate went in with me and i finished before her. so, what do i do? i stand on the toilet, look over the top, and talk to her. duh. meanwhile, this guy comes in the bathroom and says he has to go and would i please get out of the stall so he could use it? i tell him no because i'm talking to my roomie. but, i tell him, he can use my stall as long as he doesn't pee on my feet. he promises to have good aim and proceeds to urinate between my feet while i'm conversing with my roommate in the other stall. thus began a wonderful friendship with my buddy tarak. ps. we are still good friends to this day.

there are volumes of stories, folks. volumes. far too many to share! damn, i had fun in college.

I, too, have had my nights, and plenty of ‘em, but I think my most spectacular display of drunkenness would have to be the night of my twenty third birthday. As I have mentioned/complained about a few times, my twenty first birthday was less than exciting, involving a quiet dinner with my parents and siblings, a pair of roller blades as a gift, and absolutely not a peep from anyone about the significance of the year. There was nary a drop of alcohol in sight. Well, a couple of years later, I made up for it.

I was living in Ohio, working as a naturalist at an outdoor center in Hamilton, which is located about an hour from Cincinnati. (One thing I took away from that job was the ability to reliably spell Cincinnati, not an easy feat.) Hamilton was a series of strip malls and gas stations, with a Hooters and a Buffalo Wild Wings for your run of the mill nights out, but it was not the place to celebrate such a momentous occasion as the second anniversary of someone’s twenty-first birthday. As such, my fellow naturalists and I piled into as few cars as possible and drove the hour over to Oxford, where Miami University of Ohio is located (has nothing to do with Florida, folks – the Great Miami River, a tributary of the Ohio River, was so named decades before the spring break mecca was incorporated.) Oxford is a college town with tons of college bars, and we all piled into one on the main drag called First Run. It was still relatively early – 10pm or so – and I remember it being not terribly crowded when we first arrived. The boys all clustered around Golden Tee to play golf. I hopped up to the bar with the girls and had my first shot.

That whole night I was never without a beer, and the shots were flying fast and furious. A couple of hours later, the lower level dance floor was hoppin’ and booty shaking songs were ringing out – “raise up, take yo shirt off, and twist it round yo head like a helicopta” is one I think I remember. The boys were now parked at the bar and the girls were all dancing as sexily as possible, trying to get attention. I myself was getting lots of attention. People who can barely stand and slosh beer all over the dancers around them tend to do that. I bumped into one girl who turned around, put her hands on my shoulders, and shoved me away roughly, which perhaps I deserved. At the time, a beastly primal alcohol-fueled anger welled up in me and I stumbled back up off the ground, literally pushed up my imaginary sleeves, and made for this girl, ready to claw out some eyes. My friends had to hold me back. Behold the tuff girl.

I was wrestled back up to the bar, where my friends began the discussion of who was going to take me home. While the responsible friends were thus occupied, one particularly alcoholic friend decided it would be funny to give me a Three Wise Men shot, one last drink to end the night (a Three Wise Men = Johnnie Walker scotch, Jim Beam bourbon, and Jack Daniels whiskey). She handed it to me, and I blinked at it stupidly. “Go on,” she said, “suck it down.” I pulled it up to my mouth, took a deep breath in preparation for shooting it, choked on the fumes and sneezed into the glass. Three Wise Men went everywhere, including all over the face of the friend who bought it. Her startled expression is the last thing I remember.

So, I’m told that after that I fell to the ground, and a bouncer who had noticed my profound inebriation throughout the night decided it was time for me to leave, NOW. He came to me and hooked me ‘round the arms, and as he was dragging me out the door I smiled loopily up at him and said brightly “Ssssir, iss mah twenny thurd birthday tuhday!” “Well, congratulations,” he replied, “and it’s time to go home.” “OK, but iss mah twenny thurdy birthday. Iss mah twenny thurrdd buthday everboddeeeee!” I continued to chant all the way out the door. The designated drivers of the drunken bum were a set of twin sisters, Becca and Erica, and they each took an arm and muscled me to their car. Halfway through the drive home, it would seem that they had to stop so I could throw up on the side of the road. And then I took off in the woods, yelling to the woodland creatures that it was my twenny thurd birthday, and they had to chase me down and talk me into returning to the car.

The next morning, I woke up alone in a twin bed of my friend’s house. I am feeling nauseous now just thinking about that morning. Let’s not write any more about the morning.

Well, I survived, and ever after this night, in later games of I Never, I got to drink whenever somebody said the following:

(a) I never got into a fight in a bar(b) I never got kicked out of a bar(c) I never threw up on the side of the road(d) I never fled my friends in a drunken state and communed with woodland creatures in the middle of the night (hmmm, how often does this one come up?)

Monday, March 10, 2008

Sadly, there are so many times to choose from...should I talk about the time that my college boyfriend and I drank an entire bottle of Goldschlager between the two of us while sitting in his fraternity house room? We were waiting for the OMG! moment of Spring Term that year -- The Why Store was playing a concert on our campus. This was big stuff for our little tiny school and it was quite a celebration. The evening was a downward spiral after we drank the last shots from the bottle. There was fighting, there was drunken stumbling, and I ended up in my dorm room with my head spinning. I kept envisioning little gold flakes spinning around my head a la LooneyToons.

Or should I talk about the night of Homecoming during my senior year of college? That night that my roommates and I thought it would be funny to make jello shots and when we discovered that our little sisters had cooked all of the vodka out of the shots, we drank whatever we had in our rooms. I also think there was some "I Never" and Uno being played and wow if I was not ever drunk by the time that night was over.

How about the time that my boss took us all out on the town and insisted we all keep doing shots and he kept buying strong drink after strong drink...it was like a constant stream of expensive alcohol was at my disposal and I took full advantage. By the time I made it home, I was beyond intoxicated and stumbled to my bathroom. I managed to wash my face, brush my teeth and take my contacts out before I passed out on the floor. I woke up several hours later confused and not feeling so hot. I was in bed the entire next day and there was no food that was staying in my stomach. None.

I think that for this time, I will go with the cliche. My 21st Birthday. It still pains me to think about this one. My birthday fell on a Monday night (which was big on our campus due to sorority and fraternities having chapter meetings and everyone would go out afterward), so my friends and I went to one of the local bars to start the evening off right. There were only about three bars that were near our campus, so we made sure to hit each one so that I could get my free drinks. For my free drink at every bar, I chose a Long Island. Ugh. I figured if it was going to be free, it was going to be strong and expensive. I did shots at each bar and even managed to consume a yard of beer at the last stop. My boyfriend at the time thought it was funny to buy me Prairie Fire after Prairie Fire, so I was not drinking all girly drinks here. All in all, I did 20 shots...this was by far the biggest disappointment in my college career since I did not consume the final 21st shot. Funny story about that 21st shot: the guy that bought it for me was so proud. He brought it over and sat it on the bar in front of me with great gusto. The shot was a Melon Ball and it was glowing under the black light in the bar. I took one look at it, declared that there was, "No way I was consuming that glowing, freaky shot," and huffed off. My big sister collected our stuff and brought me back to our sorority house. I have no recollection of what happened after we entered that house. None. I only know that I woke up the next morning half-lying on our couch with my upper torso angled toward a trash can. I had my left arm wrapped around the trash can and my forehead had been resting on the edge the entire night. I woke up with a huge indentation on my forehead that I had to sport for many hours afterward. I spent the rest of the day in my bed and somehow managed to not get sick. All of my friends were so proud. Ah, the good old days of wild abandonment...

Friday, March 7, 2008

You’ll be the strict one, I say to him. What makes you think that? he asks mildly. I don’t know, I say, I just think you will. We’ll see, he says.

*********

We’re going camping on Memorial Day weekend, he says. Ok, I say. Better get him used to it early. This kid better like camping, my sister pipes up. And Boy Scouts. Or he’s going to have a pretty miserable life. We agree.

*********

I want this one, he declares with enthusiasm. Why, I ask, laughing. Look, he says – it’s got an octopus, and a shark, and a fish. It’s got stuff on it that he can look at while he’s in the crib. He can learn about under the sea animals. We can teach him about starfish. Ok, I say. We’ll get it. We should take him to a real aquarium, when he’s old enough. Yes, he says. That’ll be fun.

*********

Um, that’s got some pretty garish colors. I know, I say, but look – this thing spins, and that thing sproings, and this thing over here has a mirror. It’s a learning toy. It’s huge, he protests, it will take up our whole living room, and be, well, garish. I say, you aren’t gonna care so much when you can’t think straight because he won’t stop getting into things. This is a good way to trap him, keep him occupied. It’ll be a lifesaver, trust me. Ok, he reluctantly agrees, and what’s this about getting into things? They don’t crawl til they’re, like, two years old, right?

*********

If we live in a state with a good public university, I hope he wants to go there, he says. Should we start a college fund, I ask? Should we, he asks? Let’s google it and see. “College+Costs+Class+of+2026” Wow. I need a drink. Me, too. Have enough of ‘em now, he says, and we won’t have to worry about him being smart enough to go to college. Oh, yeah. Good plan.

*********

I day dream about him all the time, I sigh. Getting a first look, seeing what he looks like. Also, holding him when he’s two and sweaty-browed and sleeping. Teaching him to read when he’s four. Sending a postcard to his summer camp when he’s a little older. I don’t really think about that much, he says. It hasn’t totally hit me yet. Ah well, I remark, you don’t have the constant physical reminder. That’s true. Anyway, I say, I wonder who he’ll look like? You, he says. You, I say.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

I still know the name of each boy I’ve ever kissed. (This isn’t as great a feat as one might think, as there are only eleven. Is that a little or a lot? I have never actually taken a poll, so you tell me.)

As referenced in a recent post, JBar was my first real boyfriend, and therefore my first real kiss. That peck from my tween years so does not count.

JBar and I had been flirting for a few sunny summer months. We weren’t yet a couple, but I was more and more hopeful as the first day of school drew near, due mostly to the fact that he would call me. My experience with boys I liked up to that point extended to my calling them whenever I spent the night w/friends since I wasn’t allowed to call boys—house rule even after Kat and I had our own phone line. (I hadn’t quite learned defiance yet, but would soon.) My crushes never called me of their own volition unless they needed help with physics homework.

JBar was new to town and I subconsciously understood that if I didn’t have him by the time he met other (cuter and less Puritanical but of course dumber and less funny) girls when school started, I’d never have him. One weekday—I don’t quite remember how—he and a mutual friend (probably at my insistence to said friend in order to manufacture more flirting on my home turf) came by our house while my parents were off at work. Said friend contrived a flimsy reason to leave, but called me soon after to check to see how things were going. This was pre-cell-phone-infestation, so I went back to my parents’ bedroom to talk to her. He followed me a few minutes later.

Just as I hung up the phone, sitting on the side of Mom & Dad’s bed, I looked up and JBar was in the doorway with his arms up, holding onto the top of the doorframe, smiling that devious smile that made his eyes disappear and made my blood run hot and my heart flip all over the place—it was a smile that made me catch my breath even after we’d been broken up for almost a year, a smile I could hear from miles away. He smiled at me and I think I said, “What?” and before I knew it he was sitting next to me with one hand on my jaw. The tiny part of my brain that could still think was thinking, “This is your first kiss. Remember it forever.”

[kiss kiss kiss]

Brain, continued from previous: “Hmmm. Shouldn’t be a problem, since you’re SITTING ON YOUR PARENTS’ BED!!!”

[kiss kiss]

Brain: “Shut up, brain.”

[kiss]

And then my first kiss was over, we were grinning at each other and heading back out into the den, and we were boyfriend-and-girlfriend. A done deal.

I was seventeen years and seven months old, almost to the day. I remember the date because it was the day we marked as our anniversary, and it just happened to be on the birthday of a guy I’d pined over for years. (HA! Take that, Adam!)

JBar and I had an interesting relationship—it officially lasted a year, until I went off to college and he stayed behind for his senior year. It unofficially lasted another semester; then we did the ill-advised but unavoidable “I’m lonely, I miss you, let’s get back together” thing mid-summer after my freshman year at HC. I haven’t spoken to him for years (I’ve lost count of the actual number) but will always remember him since he was my first kiss, boyfriend, and breakup.

I have had a kiss mark the moment I became someone’s girlfriend without going on a date first on one other occasion. Meet my husband.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

ah, my first kiss. i wish i could say that it was this magical moment in my life; that it was this amazing rite of passage, but sadly enough, i can't. my first kiss happened in the 8th grade with a boy named david. he was cute enough, but i don't ever recall having this huge crush on him. anyway, david's older sister was getting married and he invited me to attend the wedding reception. i was beyond pumped to go because i just knew it would lead to my first kiss. plus, he was in the wedding and would be wearing a tuxedo and what boy doesn't look great in a tux? i just knew the night would be perfect.

i remember my mom dropping me off at the community center that spring saturday evening. (please remember that i lived in the middle of nowhere and everyone had their wedding receptions at the local community center.) i was giddy with excitement and waltzed into the doors of the community center in search of my first kiss. i don't remember much about how the evening progressed, but i do remember david asking me if i wanted to take a walk with him outside around the building. i happily obliged and soon i found myself holding hands with david, walking aimlessly through the parking lot. he was never much of a talker (why did i always date boys who don't talk? and now that i think about it, i married a fairly untalkative boy...but i digress), so i'm sure our walk was very uncomfortable and strained. soon, we stopped in between some cars in the parking lot. and that's when it happened. he turned to me, leaned in, and planted one on me.

i was expecting something pleasant, but got the exact opposite.

instead of a nice, sweet, gentle kiss, i was on the receiving end of an overzealous tongue and a bucket full of slobber. it was nasty. i will never forget what it felt like and i will never forget that i tried to inconspicuously wipe my mouth, cheeks, and chin on his shoulder when he hugged me afterwards. i swear to you that i had his spit all over my face. after the incident, we walked back inside. we drank a few sodas and sat awkwardly in some folding chairs watching the wedding guests do the hokey pokey and chicken dance. and then my mom picked me up and took me home. and i believe we broke up shortly thereafter.

everything about my first kiss was just wrong. it happened in a parking lot? at a community center in the middle of NOwhere? and i got to have a spastic tongue in my mouth? and slobber on my face? does anyone see anything remotely romantic about it? yeah, me neither.

but, like my mom always told me, 'you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince charming.' david was my first frog. and i hate to admit that lots and lots of frogs followed him. but finding my prince charming and a boy whose lips are insanely compatible with mine makes my lousy first kiss worthwhile. yes, i'm glad i kissed a frog named david, because if i hadn't, i wouldn't know what an awesome thing it is to be able to kiss my true prince charming every day for the rest of eternity.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

At fifteen, I knew that when I wore my crayon red cowboy-style button down shirt tucked into a pair of high waist jeans, no belt, with white sneakers and my hair in a limp ponytail – I looked HOTT. I knew the quadratic equations by heart, and could ace an Algebra II exam that at this point would leave me lost and blinking stupidly. I knew Lord of the Flies, because I’d just done a project on it for class, and I knew the rules for basketball, because I was tested on them in P.E./Health that year.

I also knew that I had a big old sweaty palms crush on C.G. Bryant (not his real last name), an overweight kid with terrible hair, huge glasses, but a wit! Oh, what a wit! He was smart, a little bit overconfident, and he only passed Latin class because I let him cheat off of my every homework and test for three years. I let everyone cheat. I was good at Latin, and bad at making friends, so I compensated by making the nerd’s concession: I know you aren’t really my friend, but if you’ll pretend you are then I’ll leave my homework in my home mailbox for you to pick up, take home, copy, and bring to class. Then I’ll have pretend friends and you’ll have pretend grades, and we’ll limp along through adolescence until things start to become a little more clear.

I did not at first notice C.G. He had an odd name, and an odd look, and even nerds have standards, ok? But he was a huge ham in class. He frequently would outwit the teachers, which made the cool ones laugh and the uptight ones snap. I was impressed by his rebellion, his sharp tongue, and his confidence. One day, in tenth grade, I made the flip from friend to OMG I’m in love. I'd barely noticed the guy for years, and now suddenly I was hyper aware of my every move, every breath, whenever he was in the room. I lost the ability to speak. I had no idea what to do with my arms, which seemed impossibly gawky and in the way. I clutched my books tight to my chest, a shield between us.

I wish I could tell you the conversation that ended with us as official boyfriend and girlfriend, but that memory has faded into oblivion. I do recall walking home from school and thinking – OMG!!! I have a BOYFRIEND!! My first ever boyfriend, OMG a boyfriend, just, oh, just OMG.

We passed notes in class. We did not hold hands, C.G. was too ironic and alternative for that, but we did sit next to each other on the bus during class field trips and press our upper arms against one another. Ohh, the thrill. C.G. was completely disgusted by my music tastes, so he began making me Led Zeppelin mix tapes. I still have them.

One Saturday, his mother invited me over to his house for lunch. He was pretty much an only child (his one stepbrother, 10 years older, was out of the house), and his Navy dad was deployed, so it was just me, his mom, and him. She made Reuben sandwiches, not knowing that I completely die when confronted with sauerkraut, and I choked it down and tried to look happy. Then she left us alone in the room over the garage, where we sat and listened to Led Zeppelin records and talked about nothing.

UNTIL.

C.G. coughed awkwardly, and then brought up the obvious problem in our relationship. The fact that we had been “dating” for like three whole months (though no date had taken place, since I wasn’t yet 16) – three whole months and no kiss.

I choked. My eyes bulged. I was completely terrified.

Observing my reaction, he said – well, so you’ve never kissed anybody. That’s fine, we’re just going to have to do this and get it over with so you won’t be so worried about it. OK?

I squeaked.

OK, he said, here we go. One, two, three.

He leaned in, closed his eyes behind those huge glasses, and grabbed my cheeks. I kept my eyes open, my teeth clenched, and held on to the chair. Our sauerkraut tainted lips met. I felt something on my front teeth. Ew, gross, is that his TONGUE? AUUUUGGGHHH, gross, that’s his tongue, so disgusting, auuuughh, who DOES that?????

After the misery was over, he said – Well, that’s done! And then turned to his record collection and flipped through it some more. I felt a little sick inside. Is that . . . kissing . . .? Really? That totally SUCKED! I never want to do THAT again!

I later made the mistake of telling my homework-copying pseudo friends that I had kissed C.G., and it had been like kissing fish lips. They spread the word to everyone in school, and C.G. spent several weeks puzzled as to why people kept coming up to him and making fish faces. He eventually figured it out. Then he got even with me by buying from my parents the VW Bug that had been earmarked for ME to drive when I got old enough, and then dumping me the day he brought it home.

Since then, kisses and relationships have each been better . . . and worse. I learned a few things, though. I learned not to kiss and tell. I learned that just because something is lame the first time you try it, that doesn't mean it can't improve. And I also learned a great mom trick that I plan on using on Jackjack - when your too-young son's little girlfriend comes over for lunch, serve sauerkraut. That'll put the kibosh on any shenanigans. Or at least make them REALLY unpleasant.

Monday, March 3, 2008

Hey, dirty minds! Welcome! This post is not about my "first time" (bownchickachicka wow wow-ow-ow-ow), but rather about my first real kiss. So, slightly dirty but only in the innocently dirty way that a real first kiss can be.

I had a crush on a neighborhood boy who was a year older than me in school. He was cute, he was an athlete, and he was kind of a bad boy. -le sigh- He pretty much did not know that I existed, but I made it my goal to make him notice me. One of my closest friends lived two doors down from him and I made sure to always go to her house to hang out. Her parents were wealthy and she had all the cool stuff at her house anyway, so the boy I crushed on living a mere two doors away was just an added bonus. Yeah, right.

After a few months of making myself obnoxious to him, he finally came around. The three of us, my friend, my crush and moi started hanging out. We would play stupid games, we would sing along to "Love Bites" (Oh! Def Leppard!) on the radio, and eventually things got interesting.

This boy, David was his name, became my boyfriend. I mean, he became my boyfriend in the way that only an eighth-grade boy can be to a seventh-grade girl. We mostly traded notes, hung out in my friend's garage, and we held hands once. We even pecked on the lips once or twice. Woo! David had a friend who was a little more "experienced" and on one hot summer day, he suggested we play Truth or Dare. Of course he did.

I remember that the four of us were sitting on David's back patio and the summer sun was baking the concrete. I remember how I could see my own house from David's backyard. I still remember how my heart pounded with David's friend dared him to "kiss her for real". I am sure that my cheeks flushed from embarrassment, but I was also thrilled. I was going to get my first real kiss! David's friend suggested we go up to David's bedroom for five minutes to complete the dare. David took my hand and led me up the stairs to his bedroom. We sat down on his bed. He put his hands on both of my cheeks and went in for the kill.

And we made out like champs. The entire five minutes passed and David's friend had to actually come and knock on the door to get us to stop. He and my friend grinned as they opened the door and found us guilty as charged. We all went back downstairs to continue the game, but we never did start to play again. Instead, David held my hand as our friends sat across from us.

A bond had been forged between us, I suppose. I know it sounds cheesy, but it really was a wonderful moment in my life. To have someone be so gentle and sweet and then kind enough to want to hold on to me afterward. David and I were not together for much longer after the Truth or Dare took place, but he was never mean to me. We just drifted apart as two junior high kids are wont to do.

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